


The Other Haus Ghost

by farfetched



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ghosts, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:04:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfetched/pseuds/farfetched
Summary: He'd curled up on the Haus porch one night and died. Or, the story of the other Haus ghost, and Whiskey and Tango's interactions with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some mentions of death (it is a ghost story), but aside from that, nothing much.

He'd curled up in the corner of the Haus porch one night and died. 

That was saying it mildly. It even sounded almost pleasant, although it had not been. He didn't like to remember it, not that he could recall much. The aftermath had been enough. The unholy shrieking, opening his eyes to find- _him_ , to find himself lying there, a pool of god-knows-what around his static frame, eyes glazed and staring into nothing, still curled somewhat into a ball. 

It wasn't even his house. He didn't even stay at the lacrosse frat – he was nowhere near good or powerful enough in the team to live there. But he'd been in a fight, and it was February, and he'd been drinking, he'd forgotten the cold, curled up on the porch of what he thought was a house he vaguely knew and just- drifted off. 

Although drifting off did not include the pain of bruises and broken ribs. It did not include the gradual sensation of his fingers and toes going numb, the lack of sensation spreading up until it hit his heart and killed him. It did not include the sheer bad luck that meant no one saw him there or thought to check it out. 

Nonetheless, it was a few years ago now. The people involved moved on, memories fading of the time some lax bro died on their porch, and like Mandy and Jenny, it becomes just another story to pull out at Halloween or when there's a power cut, torches under the face and spooky retellings. He doesn’t like to hear them. 

The girls think he should do more haunting, as a ghost. He's pretty content with just listening and pushing stuff around occasionally. He doesn't want to seriously fuck anyone's life up, but he does enjoy messing around with people at times. Besides, he's invisible. It's not like they can blame him. They blame each other instead, and in a weird way, he really wishes they would blame him. Because that would mean he's there. That would mean he's not invisible anymore. 

But it's not to be. He listens to Bittle blogging about his woes, and singing some weird pop songs too loud in the shower. He watches him and Zimmermann dance around each other. He watches the team watch hockey replays, shouting and yelling. He watches the new freshman come in and gradually settle. He watches Zimmermann crash through the Haus, and re-evaluates the whole situation, peeking over Bittle's shoulder at the text and getting second hand embarrassment from it, it's just so clear and earnest and unmissable. 

He spends the remainder of that summer moping in the loft, ignoring Mandy and Jenny. He wishes he'd at least lived long enough for someone to want to do that with him. He wishes he didn't want that. He wishes his invisible useless heart didn't pain him so much at the thought. 

How long does he have to stay here, anyway?

* * *

He comes out of his trance when the hockey boys start moving back in again. He blandly watches Oluransi and Birkholtz retake the attic, Mandy and Jenny squealing with glee at the thought of their favourite haunting subject returning. They discuss whether they could follow him on to the next place, because he's so much fun. 

He watches Bittle bake with a disaffected stare, watches the sheer effort and rote that has gone into it, the recipe dog-eared, covered in flour and smudged with grease stains, amendments noted in at least three different styles of writing down the margins and between the text. It's a marvel how he even reads it, really. 

And then it's time to watch the next recruits find their feet in the Haus, and he's not really interested, but he has nothing better to do. Mandy and Jenny are lurking in the attic plotting, (he heard the words 'Holsom' and decided both not to ask and to stay out the way). 

One of them stares at him. 

As guys go, he guesses the new kid is kind of pretty. It's the eyes that get him, big and blue-purple and like they are staring right at him. He panics for a moment, but when he looks back, the boy isn't looking anymore, and he breathes a sigh of relief. As much as he wants it to happen, he's not prepared for the impossibility of someone actually recognising he's there. 

So he drifts uneasily around with them, getting introduced to the Haus for the fifth time, at least. He's lost count, only partly interested in how they talk to each other, how it's changed. Bittle's giving the tour this time, and they meander between the kitchen – Bittle's kitchen, really – and the hall, and upstairs to Chow's room. 

He rather likes Chow. He seems pretty easy going, and quite often, he'll just float in his room, eased by the normalcy of it all. He thinks it's like being the library, if he could ever go back there. 

He can't, but it's nice to dream sometimes. It's not like he's got anything else to do. 

But the kid, the one who seemed to look at him before, he's looking again. He decides to inventively name him Blue Eyes, which lasts all of four seconds when somebody refers to him as Tango, and it just seems to fit. 

But Tango seems to be able to see him. 

It's impossible, really. He knows he can't really, knows it's a trick of the light, but can't stop himself from hoping. Instead he phases through the wall, and sits on the windowsill in Duan's room, staring out at it all. The tour has already been through here, so he's safe. Duan sits on her bed and scrolls through some site he never really learnt about whilst alive, and they are content ignoring each other. 

It's much better than when Knight had this room. He'd sit in here and then be disturbed by an impassioned rant on something, never peaceful. Fun sometimes, but never peaceful, and boy did that man snore. 

Safe to say, he likes Knight's room a lot more with Duan in it.

* * *

He doesn't see much of the new members, really, and if he does, it's at a party, and he is not cool with parties. People walk through him, and it's the creepiest thing in the world. He spends most of the time curled up in the cupboard in the attic, ignoring everything, up to and including sex noises from outside. He doesn't care what they do, as long as they leave him alone, and don't walk through him. Besides, it's very easy to tell he's not there, and he has enough reminders as it is. 

So it goes until Halloween. The only part he doesn't mind of the festival being the early hours in the morning, most people having gone home or passed out, and he can sidle amongst them and listen to the stories they tell and pretend he feels normal. 

Until they start telling his story, again, for the umpteenth time. 

It's totally wrong, of course (or at least, he's pretty sure he didn't stab anyone, and certainly no guns were involved) and he just can't deal with it today. He announces uselessly to the room at large that he's had enough and he's going to be haunting Duan's room if anyone (ha) needs him (Mandy and Jenny are floating above the circle and nod at him, engrossed in the story. Maybe they don't realise it's his) and stands up. 

One of them whips his head around, narrowing his eyes.  
"Who said that." He mutters, looking everyone in the eye around the circle. He thinks the boy might have been nicknamed Whiskey. 

It generally causes confusion. 

"Who said what?" Oluransi questions, puzzled. He's stopped listening, caught in the gaze of Tango. 

"Someone said they'd had enough and were going to Duan's room." Whiskey retells, clearly suspicious. The others look at each other. 

Clearly, none of them heard anything. He's caught between staring at Tango and staring at Whiskey, and noticing some kind of contraption around his ears. 

"You heard me?" He utters, in shock. Whiskey frowns. 

"I wouldn't have said anything if I hadn't." 

There is a general murmur of dissent in the group, Mandy and Jenny laughing to themselves. Tango's eyes light up, and he's still staring right at him. 

"Oh, you probably heard one of the ghosts. I can't hear him, but I can see, and his mouth moved. Did you know you have a lax bro haunting the Haus?" He babbles, and a thick layer of silence falls over the group. 

"Tango dear, why would there be a lax bro haunting the Haus?" Bittle questions, somewhat condescendingly. 

He frowns.  
"Dunno, ask why there are two sorority girlfriends haunting your house too. I just know I died here." 

Mandy and Jenny giggle, and Whiskey puts his hands over his ears, eyes wide. 

"Girlfriends? You _died_ here?" 

The circle share scared glances. Tango just smiles. 

"Mr Ghost, do you know sign language?" 

And Tango is looking straight at him. Tango isn't looking through him, ignoring, he's addressing him, and it's- it's too much to cope with. 

He mutely shakes his head, and bolts upwards, phasing through the ceiling twice until he's in the attic, floating on top of the wardrobe quivering slightly. 

Someone can _see_ him. Someone _heard_ him. 

What the hell is he supposed to do about that?

* * *

He spends a good week or two hiding in the attic, watching Mandy and Jenny mess with Oluransi and watching him and Birkholtz get closer to admitting that if they're not in love, they are certainly more than just normal friends. 

The girls try to include him. To be fair, they always have, but the girlfriends part of his comment has been true since before he died, and they've been here a lot longer than him; they get on so well it's almost terrifying. 

What he does not realise is that Tango can also see them. It's not just him, as he would later learn; Tango had a talent for seeing, if not hearing, the dead. With what he finds out is Whiskey's help, Tango identifies from asking the girls that he's hiding in the attic, and pokes his head around the door. It's the middle of the day, everyone else is out, but he'd not felt like moving, whiling away hours and days and even weeks sometimes just not thinking about anything. 

His eyes lock onto the movement immediately, searching Tango's vividly blue eyes for a reason, in confusion. He flits into denial. Whilst Tango might be looking at him, for him, it's unlikely. Chances are he just needs something from here. 

Tango smiles, watching him the entire time.  
"Can I come in?" He asks, and he's so stunned, he nods mutely. Tango seems thrilled by this allowance, deftly hoisting himself up onto Ransom's bunk so he's on more of a level with him. He noticed that Tango's got a pad of paper and a few pens. If his heart had worked, he felt like it would have been beating faster; as it was, it thudded hollowly in the cavity of his chest, and he's not convinced it's more of a psychological thing. 

"You can move things, right? Mandy and Jenny said- well, Whiskey said that they said, anyway – that you were the best one at moving stuff in the house. Bitty said his pie floated the other day when Nursey dropped it. Was that you?" 

He thinks back. The other day refers to an incident several weeks ago, before he got confirmation of Tango and Whiskey being able to see and hear him. Nurse, ever the clumsy one, had tripped up – really, why did they let him carry anything at all – and he'd just reacted, grabbing it. He'd realised what he'd done and put it down, the echo of heat from it barely warming him at all, but Bittle and Nurse had stared at it, then laughed, then pondered their floating pie. 

He nods. Tango seems elated at this revelation. 

"So I was thinking, it'd be great to talk with you! So you can hold pen and paper, right? I mean, I can lip read but it's less accurate. If you learnt sign language I can definitely talk to you!" Tango rambles, looking so happy and hopeful it doesn't occur to him not to try it, or to run away. 

Gingerly, he takes the pen, and then the paper. It's not exactly difficult, but it requires a certain amount of thought, of want. Phasing through things takes more effort, although he's never quite decided why that is, or how he does it in any case. 

He pauses. 

He doesn't know what to say, now he's been given the chance. 

He looks back up at Tango, eyes wide with interest, with hope. Seeing him. 

"Start from the start! What's your name?" Tango asks. 

Thinking about it, he realises he can't remember. Who was he before he died, and became this, a ghost of a house that was never his? 

He tries, but his mind works like sludge when it comes to things before his death. He knows (thinks) he was on the lacrosse team – he's still wearing the team sweater, and it seemed to fill the hockey team with irony that a 'lax bro' should be the one haunting their house – but other than that. It's been several years. His name has faded from remembrance, now just a story they pull out occasionally to scare each other, and it never has his name attached. 

Morosely, he writes the words _I don't know_ on the page and shows it to Tango. His face crumples into sympathy, and then determination. 

"I'll find out. There'll be a record somewhere, right? I'll give you your name back." He says, so brightly he almost believes it would make things alright again. 

Or maybe, in the simple act of talking to someone, things are more alright than they've ever been since his death.

* * *

He decides that he could very much get used to being noticed. He enjoys speaking to Whiskey, making him laugh with snide comments, or sitting on the stairs with him in an empty house and just talking about anything. For some reason, Whiskey’s hearing aids can apparently convert ghost speak at times, and he wonders whether he’d be able to talk to other people via headphones. 

He starts to learn sign language, because he has nothing better to do; either Whiskey or Tango take to leaving their laptops at the Haus, and he freaks a good number of people out by sitting in the kitchen with it, typing and learning and invisibly signing. 

Bittle gets somewhat used to it, but still rather creeped out by videos playing without warning, keys pressing without an obvious source of pressure. Yet, with Tango's encouragement, he does try, and they even have a short conversation via typing, and he decides he likes Bittle just for trying. It's more than most people would do, although he seems unduly disappointed when he points out that he can't eat. 

Until, a few days later, Tango bursts in, looking gleeful. 

"Dylan!" 

He looks at Tango blankly. His face falls somewhat, but he perseveres.  
"Your name. You were- are? - Dylan Fox. You're the lax bro that died on our porch." Tango exclaims, sitting himself down. 

He thinks about it for a long moment. It does seem to make sense, something about it just fits with his shady memories, and he can just about reconcile that it probably was who he had been. 

Trouble is, he's not so sure he still is that person. Does he really still have claim to that name? 

Tango smiles warmly, gently pushes the laptop screen down, and leans forwards slightly, his eyes glittering. 

"But you're part of the hockey team, now! You deserve a nickname." Tango says, clearly having thought about it on the way over, or for some time before that. He finds himself oddly excited and charmed by the idea that he's worth thinking about. 

He nods, knowing that no one comes up with their own nickname. Waiting. Will he even like the name Tango gives him? 

"So, I was thinking, Tango, Whiskey, they're both part of the NATO phonetic alphabet, right? And you're Fox. So! What about Foxtrot?" Tango asks, his eyes shining in hope, in glee, in more than he can actually describe or name. 

Foxtrot. A dance, like Tango. But it has a ring to it, and he mouths it to himself. Then says it. 

Then smiles brightly, and nods. 

Tango grins.  
"Well then, Foxtrot, welcome to the SMH!" 

Foxtrot matches his expression, and signs _thank you_ , and he feels more connected to the real world than he ever has before.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted over at tumblr, on silverliningslurk, here: http://silverliningslurk.tumblr.com/post/152151213611/the-other-haus-ghost
> 
> This has not been betaed, or read by anyone else, I just finished it today, and I really wanted to contribute to this challenge! Ghosts intrigue me, and I thought hey, Haus ghosts! But I wanted to do something slightly different. So, if there's two Haus ghosts, there could well be another, right...? Hope you enjoyed in any case, and thank you for making the challenge, omgericzimmermann!


End file.
